Killer Killer
by LePetitPappillon
Summary: Some part of this was real sad. But another part was beautiful-just because this poor broad was living in the moment after being dead for so long.
1. Chapter 1

Ladd Russo came to that same café every Friday afternoon. He'd sit down and swallow a whole cup of black coffee, with a little bit of sugar. He stood out like a bruise. Like that little blood red spot on a fancy white napkin. But he didn't really give a damn. He'd come all dressed up in his nice suits and black leather dress shoes like any proper mobster would, suck down liquid caffeine and move on like it was nothing. Leave a couple bucks for a tip and move along into a vibrant night life and plenty of trouble.

And usually, the stares he'd get didn't cause him to move his gaze up from the paper he was reading-or the napkin he was shredding into little bits-or distract from all the thoughts of blood and sex coursing through his head like a river. But then there was the dame that worked there, who would stop whenever she saw him coming-work her lips into bloody splotches and keep on moving. And this wasn't the typical curious glances Ladd collected by the bucketful. Her teeth were gritted like she had something to say-something to ask. Their eyes even met on a couple of occasions. The dark brown coffee stains slamming right into the mess of blue that made up the best part of his face.

She was so damn finicky too-pristine white cups quivering in her hands like leaves shivering in a cool breeze. Top teeth clamped onto bottom lip. Like claws. And usually-when this kind of thing happened, Ladd Russo still didn't give a damn. He might even harass the broad, raise up that obnoxious voice and give her hell for staring like that. But for some reason, he couldn't do it to that little thing, with her apron and her polka dotted dress and the coffee going in and out of her gloved hands. She looked like she knew something anyway.

And one day, when the spring had moved in and made the air a mess with pollen, that young lady brought Ladd Russo a cup of dark black coffee, served up on a pristine white plate. And those big strong fingers took the handle after a pile of pristine white sugar sank to the bottom of that little black lake. He drank, easing long legs forward with bones popping and muscles chilling. And before he set the cup back into place, he found a small piece of pristine white paper folded neatly down the center, tucked just under a ring of dark black.

Oh, those fingers were too curious to leave anything alone. That was like putting a match in front of a pyromaniac. Ladd Russo didn't even think twice before the crease was bent the other way, spine cracked and innards undressed, showing a small set of neat black letters on that pristine, white paper.

'Please kill me.'

Ladd took another sip of coffee. Then he took the note and jammed it into his pocket, rolling it all over in his head like a boulder tumbling down a mountain. Causing an avalanche.

Then Mr. Russo finished up and left.


	2. Chapter 2

Happiness came in blond hair and blue eyes. And he hit her like a brick. His name was Peter, but in her head he was Dorian Grey and nearly perfect. Those light sapphire eyes were crystal clear like sparkling ocean water and hair yellow burned like gold. Her heart was throbbing at first sight-like a spasm between her ribs.

The worst part was that he liked her back. Every day, he was coming in for coffee, dropping whole dollar bills as her tip, like water coming out of a pipe. It was cute when her face got real red and her mouth dehydrated, so she couldn't talk right and her tongue twisted up into knots. Everything about her- from her dark black hair to her hot brown eyes- made his heart spasm too.

And she asked him one day, why he had so much money to be giving silly coffee runners like her. Why he wasn't doing something smarter, like saving up for one of those fancy black cars you could buy. Where he got all that money?

She wouldn't like the answer to any of it. Part was admitting his feelings for a silly coffee runner like her and another part was a secret entirely. So, Dorian Grey smiled-like the big freaking oaf that he was and she could do nothing but smile right on back. It was infectious like that. He was so much blond glory and so much sunshine, there wasn't that much of a choice.

Then he called her Doll Face and asked if she wanted to get some coffee at some other place at some other time. When he could buy her a cup and she wouldn't have to serve it.

And what woman could say no? She'd almost have to be insane or some kind of nun.

That's when it hit her- cupid's big heavy cinder block. Pristine white wings and all.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why do you want me to kill you?"

She was walking home, pushing her bicycle alongside her until Ladd Russo came up and interrupted. The broad was just admiring those dim street lights that seemed to hide the filth of the Chicago sidewalks better than they actually lit it up. Maybe the sun just stole their job a little too good.

Her lips pursed together, before she really turned around.

"You know, this really puts alotta questions in my head. Like how do you know about me and my hobbies? I knew I was popular, but I never met you before, Toots." His hands dipped right into those expensive pockets while the rest of him waited on an answer. "What's your name anyway?"

"I'm Priscilla." She brushed a bit of that dark hair behind her ear. It was short and unruly, but a pretty ink black that almost had a shine to it.

Ladd hadn't got to see her face before, not in too much detail. Before, this Priscilla was pretty much a watercolor painting, with its colors running down the side of it like a smear. It was still an interesting piece of art, as far as surrealism would go. But for details-real, photographic details, the far away, running version of her didn't work.

Up close, she had an interesting face. Soft pink lips and fat brown eyes with lashes thick like lace. Her flesh was practically paper white, with the exception of blush bursting into her cheeks-likely put there by a brush or a fever. Her waist was tiny and she had little tits, with curvy hips poking out the sides of her dress. Today it was a happy pink thing with bright white polka dots searing out sections like acid.

They had been staring at one another a little too long.

"You should walk with me. And we'll talk about it. I was just goin' home."

So Ladd Russo took a couple of steps forward and they started moving.

"You didn't tell me why yet."

"Well-There's alotta reasons. But, I guess the main one would be my heart condition." Her eyes pointed forward a minute-while her teeth shredded up the right side of her mouth. "I ain't gonna bore you with some sob story, but all you need to know is that I don't got much time left. I know I don't. The doctors can't help me, and what help they could give runs something like one thousand a week, just so I can sit in some shitty hospital while they shoot me up with needles." On the ground, her clean, white shoes became heavier. Like anvils connected to little Popsicle sticks for legs. "If I'm going, it's by my own means. But see-now it's getting bad enough to where this illness of mine really hurts. I can't sleep no more and it's like a punch to the chest all the Goddamn time."

Then those lips, beet red in comparison to the rest of her-gave Mr. Russo a little curve. "Besides, I'd rather have a cute guy like you do it. Not some ugly old, grim reaper." Those gloved hands were shaking a little, but Priscilla didn't seem nervous. Her mouth even clenched up a bit, like someone just collapsed her stomach with a size fourteen boot.

"That's an unfortunate situation you got there." Ladd's feet were heavy against the pavement too. It was a quiet evening and this was a quiet sort of conversation. The kind that caused weighty, loud thoughts. "Look, I don't really want to kill ya. My favorite people to kill are the ones that don't expect it. Dying is the furthest thing from their mind when I get a hold of 'em. But you-you've got death in your damn blood."

"I understand that." Priscilla stopped, letting the pain move through her a second. You could hear it in her voice-that chronic ache that clenched up her chest like her collarbones were broken. "I'm willing to pay you. I got about five grand saved up-and I know it ain't a lot, but I'd feel like shit, asking this kind of favor for nothin'." Her lungs sucked in a breath like dehydration sucks in water. "I do have some requests though. You see, I got this whole thing planned out…"

They had stopped walking at this point.

"Look, I'll ride your bike home and you can sit on the back. This is gettin' hard to watch."

"Nah. It's been worse." Red lips opened up a bit, taking in as much as they could. Pricilla was worn out, just like a punching bag over the course of a decade. It was obvious, that she worked hard just about all her life, switching from café to café until her body was blistered and bleeding and her heart couldn't work right. It gave out from the poverty and sorrow that came with her type of tragedy.

"You'll have to excuse me-for what I'm about to ask. But before you kill me, if you decide to take me up on my offer-I wanna have something like a date first. You know-go get some pasta and maybe go dancing for a while afterwards. Then you can take me back to my place and we'll get it over with."

They looked at one another for a moment, while Priscilla pushed her brows into one another and Ladd rolled it all over a couple times in his head. Her breathing was coming tough and her shaking hands were gripping onto the handles of that bicycle as if each of them made up a walker.

"If I had more, I'd give you more. Really, you gotta believe me when I say that. But I ain't never been lucky, and now I'm just askin' for your understanding." A little huff. "So, how about it?"

Ladd shifted his eyes over to that gaunt figure, dressed up in such a happy looking dress.

"Yeah, I'll help you out. When you put it that way, it's hard not to. Sure, I'm a bastard but not that kind of bastard- that would leave a poor lady like yourself in need. That's just downright shameful." Then, he shrugged, like that sort of behavior made no damn sense. "If that's what you want, then I'll give it to ya, Doll Face."

"Oh, really?" Those big brown eyes looked like they could have drowned with tears. But instead of crying, Priscilla just placed Ladd Russo inside her arms, her hot red cheek resting right on his collar. "Thank you so much. Can I meetcha here tomorrow? It's my only day off for a while."

"Yeah, sure thing."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Russo. I can't tell ya how much I appreciate this."

Then she kissed his cheek and kept on walking. And they came to her apartment and made their plans.


	4. Chapter 4

Priscilla really looked beautiful. Her hair had been washed through thoroughly and placed inside tight curlers while her lips had been dipped in bright pink. Cheeks were tinted rose and the whole of her smelled like a garden, bursting full of chipper flowers and pollen with little honey bees buzzing around. She was wearing her best dress too, a sunny yellow thing with black polka dots and a bow that wrapped around her boney waist.

And she met Ladd at her front door-dolled up that way, all shy and demure. Priscilla wasn't used to looking pretty. She was usually too caught up, being sick with sheet white skin and hallowed out eyes with bags clipped under them. But really, she looked fantastic. Even better than a broad without some kind of heart disease. Like one of those lovely ladies you'd find in a cola add brushed across a billboard.

"Well, ain't you lookin' nice? That's a fancy dress." Then his lips curled up, into that big, shameless smile he flashed just about everyone.

"You look real nice too. You musta paid a lot of money for a suit that snazzy." A frail hand brushed past a refined black collar, touching the shirt underneath. "Thanks again, for agreein' to do this. I was worried-you might change ya mind and not show."

"Hey, I'm a man of my word." Mr. Russo took poor Priscilla by the hand. That tiny gloved thing all done up in lace. And her face turned red for a second, drowning out the light blush. "Are you ready to go?"

"Well actually, I was gonna invite you in for a cup a coffee, if you wanted something to drink first. I also got some iced tea in the fridge."

"Iced tea?" Ladd's smile showed teeth. "How sweet a you, Doll Face. Sure. I'd love some iced tea, seeing as how you make me coffee all the time anyway."

"Well. Come on in."

Both Ladd and Priscilla stepped inside her apartment, which was little and just a tad shabby. The furniture was old-all of the pieces either borrowed or taken, probably from her mother's home or from a friend who needed to get rid of an old couch. But it had a certain charm to it. On the walls, there were imitations of classic water color paintings and a well cared for coo-coo clock. Not to mention the stack of classic literature on the coffee table sitting before that decade old, pink sofa. Dorian Grey, Les Misérables, Crime and Punishment. There wasn't much there that wasn't heavy reading.

And suddenly, they were in the kitchen-which had all rusty pots and pans hanging on the old, yellow walls. The wall paper had even faded out. What used to be vibrant and happy now crashed into crusty pink flowers and the yellow of a bruise.

But that had a certain charm to it too. Maybe because Priscilla actually kept the place relatively clean. It was cute-to see someone try so hard.

Ladd sat down at that little kitchen table-only large enough for two people and watched as mismatched cups were filled to the brim with the iced tea sitting inside that worn pitcher. It also had crusty pink flowers.

"You want sugah?"

"Nah. Unsweetened is fine."

The larger of the two glasses was set in front of Ladd and Priscilla landed in the chair across from him. Then her lips curled up, like someone dipped them in raw saccharine. Those deep, sad eyes looked so worn out in this lighting, but even the weathering couldn't keep her from looking happy. Like a broken sunflower with petals radiating bright yellow.

"You still didn't say how you knew about me." Ladd Russo's voice was slightly softer. As though speaking too toughly would cause Priscilla's teeth to fall bloody out of her mouth. Or break her arm. Or some ridiculous shit like that.

"Well, Mr. Russo. You killed my old man." For a brief second, some shock flashed into those blue, blue eyes. But Priscilla just kept on talking. "I ain't mad atcha. Actually, my dad was a real bastard. If anything-he was askin' for it, with all the dirty business he did."

That dilapidated mug pressed to Priscilla's bottom lip before she took a heavy drink. Then the base of the cup tapped back onto the table. "Anyway, the cops could never figure out nothin'. But there was a rumor that you done it. I mean-alotta people know who you are. Not really no _normal_ people. Like those dumb bastards you see in the rich parts a town, with their pretty white gloves and blond children. But I knew who you were, just on account a my family being made up of so many delinquents. I even saw ya around sometimes, before I heard it was you. So it wasn't so hard-matchin' a face with a name."

Another sip of rich tea and her scarlet mouth was twirling again. "That was about three years ago, actually. My ma died just a year after my pop. See-she always loved him, no matter how many times he broke her bones or sent the teeth spittin' out her mouth. I think I owe you anotha thank you on that one, even though the old lady was so sad afterwards. It was betta for her anyways."

Priscilla's cup had been emptied. The inside left with caramel colored drops and lonely. And for some reason, her lips returned to the lipstick stain she had left on the rim. Like chewing on the cheap ceramic would help her memory.

"But I promised no sob stories. I don't like to think of 'im as it is. You know-it'd be shitty of me, to make the mood so depressing on a night like this. But that's how I found out about ya. And that's that." Her gaunt body rose, and the cup was placed gently into the sink. "Well, you just finish up that tea, and when you wanna go, we'll go."

Ladd drank down a good half of his cup and released a huge breath afterward. "You know, Priscilla. You're a real interesting broad. Maybe I'm lucky, you came to me-askin' such a thing. Although, I gotta be honest. I still don't wanna kill you. 'Cause even now, when you're dolled up so pretty, you still got death written all over you."

"Not at all. The only thing I got written all over me is the thought a you and that fine suit you got there." She stamped Ladd with a kiss before sitting back inside her place. His cheek was bruised with a stain. "Don't go lettin' me ruin any good time. 'Cause even if that's true, I'm happy." Those big brown splotches lit up like a Christmas tree, lashes like thick branches and irises like bulbs. "Besides, death is the last thing I wanna be thinkin' about right now. Doncha understand? It's cause you're here-that I don't gotta think about dying anymore. I know when it's comin' and I'm ready."

Then she shined him a smile.

"I'm more concerned about dinner. I don't know about you-but I'm starvin'. Let's go get somethin' to eat, unless you still wanna hang around here."

"Nah. You're right, Toots. I'm starvin' too."

Shiny loafers tapped onto the floor, and Ladd was on his feet. That big strong hand took her frail little fingers once again, laying a kiss on her rouge and pulling her towards the door. And there she was again-blushing up a fury colored pink and shimmering like sunlight through colored glass.


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas morning and shit was flying against the walls. Boxes all wrapped up in shiny green and red paper, with silver bows and clean tape. Mom and Dad were screaming again. Mom crying while Dad shot out the worst of fucking words. All the words she wasn't supposed to know yet. All the words she would have been learning in public school if she hadn't heard them here first. She said them sometimes too. Like fuck and shit and damn.

Mom would just look at her with heart break. Like her core was made of egg shell and Priscilla's precious little shoe-with those sweet silver buckles-just crushed it.

Dad hit Mom. Because Mom was being fucking hysterical and there was no need for that. Mom need to calm down, so Dad popped her in the mouth. Dad popped her in the mouth because sometimes, Dad hated Mom. But Mom never hated Dad. Mom was good and loyal and demure. Like a little China doll.

Almost similar to the one that was smashed up on the floor, spelling out profanities in huge, porcelain chunks.

This was the part where Baby ran outside, before she was just like the China doll that was supposed to be hers. She ran right out, into the snow with her little pale white knees coming out her nicest Christmas dress-with her tiny black shoes with the big silver buckle. And Daddy yelled. Daddy yelled real loud with the top of his voice-like a siren beating the shit out of a quiet morning.

But she kept on running, with her heart beating fast and time going slow. Seconds were turning into frames, each one making up a scene in this horror movie.

And she went on, until the police brought her back home. Before someone off those mean streets abducted her.


	6. Chapter 6

The outside was filled with the scent of flowers and gasoline, with dim streets lights popping up like daisies in between cracks in the cement. But there was still something pleasant about it-maybe because nothing could be unpleasant at that moment in time. Not the smell of gasoline. Not the air stuffed with pollen. Not the reek of the sewer, poking just as it pleased into what would be fresh night air. Not the grey clouds of cigarette smoke that wrapped around their heads as they walked along the streets. Nothing.

It was still a beautiful evening. The temperature was a pleasant breeze mixed in with a touch of heat, so it wasn't freezing or on fire, and a few stars even poked their heads out from the clouds and pollution and lights, to look at Ladd and Priscilla as they drifted deeper into that ongoing city. Their hands were still connected, twined together at the fingers while that thin creature burned up like a neon light.

And they walked past café after café and restaurant after restaurant, all lit up and blazing like flames, until they came to a tiny joint with practically no title at all. Priscilla's feet were planted, keeping Ladd from running too far away.

"This is it-" Then her brows folded up into a half apology. "Is this alright?"

Mr. Russo let out a laugh that boiled into steam. "You're the one callin' the shots, Toots. Wherever you wanna eat is fine with me. 'Sides, these little places are better- on this kind of evening when everyone's out and runnin' around." A strong hand opened a door that triggered the ringing of a bell. "After you."

"Thank you."

So the two stepped inside, to find a place the size of a small apartment with tables shoved against the walls. Tiles lined the floor in a pattern of red and white and pretty pictures of Italy hung on every corner. And Priscilla was shaking again, with sickness and nerves. Her little hand quivered inside Ladd's grip, like the poor girl was having a seizure. Her free fingers were gripping at the buttons of her dress. Her heart was kicking in her ribs. This traveled through her veins and into that murder's palm.

But then the waiter came out, from behind the counter in front of the kitchen. Ladd and Priscilla were told to take a seat.

Priscilla's eyes dug right into the menu, fingers running over the edges that were lined in a handsome border. Those pale cheeks flushed, like sweat might start running down the side of her face and wet her collar.

Ladd watched her, as she flipped through pages the different times. As her scrutiny burned holes in the fine plastic protecting the cheap paper beneath it. It must have been difficult; to pick what was probably going to be her last meal. Her lips were working themselves into an upset little line while her eyes went diving in for probably the twentieth time.

Then she set the menu back onto the table with those mugs of sweet coffee sticking to her date.

"I know what I want."

"Is that so? Whatcha gonna have?"

"The chicken Romano." Her sight switched from the table top, and back into that lively cluster fuck of blue eyes and blond hair. "Do you know whatcha want?"

"Yeah. I'll just have whatever you're havin'." The menu sitting before him was pushed forward to the center of the table, with stubborn little squeaks accompanying it.

"Oh, come on. Don't go doin' that now! I was gonna ask if I could try some a whatever you was havin'. And what if you hate it, a somethin'?" Priscilla wore trouble like a mask, those big brown stains taking up the whole of her face. "Look, there's lotsa good stuff on this menu here-my ma and I used to come once a month when I was little, so you gotta get somethin' different than me."

The menu slid back across the table, like the scene went in reverse. And Ladd's eyes were back, digging into the long list of pastas and pizzas and deserts. "I didn't think it was so important to ya."

"Well, ain't you ever been out before and someone just gets the same thing you're gettin'? And then you go gettin' upset cause you just want them to try somethin' else? I dunno. I guess I'm kinda crazy on top a sick, but in my head, when I planned this whole thing-we was both eatin' something different. So please, Mr. Russo. If you'll let me be a pain in the ass, I'd appreciate it."

"Nah, you ain't no pain in the ass, Toots. I just ain't that picky-that's all." Those blue eyes scrolled into soups and salads. Like he was going to eat one of those. Then there was stillness as that lacey glove reached up again, to grasp at the collar of that dress. It was slight-Priscilla had gotten it down to a science; how to grip her chest without drawing attention. But it wasn't foolproof.

"I noticed you had alotta books at your apartment."

"Oh yeah. I've always liked readin', even though I didn't have enough money to keep on goin' to school. I think Dorian Grey was always my favorite book-excuse me. _The Picture of Dorian Grey._" Her lips curled up between a wince and a twinkle. "Why? Do I not seem like the type who likes to read? I can see why you would think so."

But then the waiter came, before they could continue on with their conversation and took their orders. As Priscilla spoke, three small beads of sweat broke across her forehead, rolling down past her ear and onto her neck. The way rain goes runs along buildings. Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip a bit, catching doll red lipstick and holding in a yelp of sharp pain inside her ribcage.

And they waited for a second before speaking again.

"You said you wanted to go dancin' after this, right? Maybe you just wanna take it easy-you might die or somethin'."

Then they both laughed.

"I thought we weren't gonna go worryin' bout death. You say that kinda thing and you put the thought right back in my head. Now that ain't no fun is it? And it's like I said-I got this whole thing planned out. Not going dancin' on a night like tonight-" Priscilla took a little breath. "That's like eatin' cake with no milk-or kissin' with no lips. You ever kissed a girl with no lips, Mr. Russo? It's a terrifyin' thing."

"I can't say that I have. I only like ladies with big ol' pouty lips. Kinda like yours, Doll Face." Ladd flashed a smile that sent an arrow straight through her crux. A white and pink arrow with a heart for a point. And her cheeks turned even redder and a few more beads of sweat tucked themselves into the dark black hair behind her neck.

"You freakin' lady killer. I'll be dead by the end of the night, and you won't even hafta touch me. You betta not go winkin' at me a nothin'. I'll have a heart attack right here." Her lungs filled up, pressing her chest even further into the lovely material of her bright yellow dress. "I guess I'm just tryin' to say I'm glad you agreed to this."

"It's like I said. I can't go neglectin' a nice girl like you. To do sucha thing is purely despicable. What kinda gentleman would refuse, specially when you asked so nice? Now I couldn't lave ya hangin', could I?" A grin and a wink and she was practically on the floor.

"Well, I'm real grateful. And what did I just say?" Those heavy lashes pressed together in return. "You're lucky I'm not unconscious right now. And I'd be mad too, cause then I wouldn't get to dance with you, or even eat some a this pasta I ordered. I've been lookin' forward to this a long time, Mr. Russo."

"Please." One of those strong hands lifted into the air. "You can call me Ladd. I respect your respect, but this isn't the sorta thing that merits formalities."

So they sat and called one another Ladd and Doll Face until the food arrived, two heaping plates of pasta and glasses of champagne. They steam lifted into the air like smoke blowing towards heaven, and the shine of those glasses reflected bright in the dim lighting. Made up of candles and dying bulbs and the street lights, poking in through the windows. And Priscilla ate, like she hadn't eaten in months. Taking in noodles to her skinny middle like a vacuum ate dirt. Her fork even reached over and stole a few of the rigatonis from Ladd's plate.

He didn't mind and he didn't raise hell. How could he, when those coarse bones were poking through her dress like pins in a cushion? Getting angry at a sick woman-who probably had her appetite back for the first time in months-was an offence he just couldn't commit.

And when it came time to pay, Ladd picked up the bill before those thin lace things could even touch that leather booklet. Then her face turned red, and they left to go dancing.


	7. Chapter 7

They filled him full of bullet holes and left him for dead. You couldn't tell from the image stuck inside the coffin, crammed and forced in, like a jar over flowing with water. It was inappropriate. He didn't belong in there, with his youthful face and that pretty golden blond hair. Peter was too goddamn young and that was the bottom line.

And they even had the decency to clean him up and cover his Swiss cheese chest with a fresh shirt, like he was going somewhere nice. So that way, everyone could gawk at the tragedy and wonder why such a fine young man was dead today, if they hadn't heard already. It would have been better-if they just picked up the body and dropped him into that expensive looking box the way it was. Blouse covered in bullet holes and blood splayed everywhere-like spilled red wine. It would have made more sense. It would have been less fake and insulting and puzzling. Because now all his loved ones could just hover over him and wonder and wonder and wonder, why such a nice boy had gotten involved with such a dirty business. Why he had been at the wrong place at the wrong time and got lead smacked into the best of his organs.

They hadn't even touched his face.

And there was Priscilla, who was boiling mad and didn't have to do any wondering. Now her chest had nine different, little holes inside it. With blood leaking out of every single one of them like a fountain gushing.

They had dreams together. Not just dreams-but _plans_. And now the mother fucker had to get shot in the chest nine times, just after he had finished tearing out her heart and keeping it inside his breast pocket. The grief and tears and rage came boiling up-to the point that she couldn't even speak. Her eyes were just pointed into the black netted veil falling from her hat. Not to anyone. Not to anything. The only thing here worth looking at was cold and dead in a beautiful card board box they were going to drop six feet underground. It was fucking unbearable.

So Priscilla went home-with a chest full of holes and an erupting stomach-before they dropped him beneath the grave stone. That was about all she could handle.


	8. Chapter 8

And there they were, dancing together inside a room filled with activity. People were talking loud, drinking wine out of dark cups, all while music blared out from the band. Priscilla wore some of that life on her face too. She was filled up with color and glitter and light, like a birthday candle glaring out of the center of the cake.

It wasn't a long walk from the restaurant. In fact, the both of them just had to drift down a few panels of sidewalk to arrive here-to this noisy place with its active people. The music could be heard from outside, on the street where there was a line of people waiting outside the door.

They had snuck in through the back. Went right in like a couple of bad asses. One of the people working there almost stopped them, but one look at Ladd Russo and he was heading right past them, to go clean the bathroom like he had been told to. They weren't on the nice side of town. You could tell by the amount of attention that hooked itself to the blond man's back. He and Priscilla were attracting stares like moths running into light bulbs. And it wasn't because they were pretty.

But the only thing Priscilla had between her lashes was a handsome dose of Ladd Russo in that fine, fine suit. Her heart was pumping and her face was coded in sweat, but still, Priscilla twinkled like the star on top of the Christmas tree. All done up in gold and silver-sparkling over everyone else's shine and taking every last ounce of the man's attention.

Maybe her chest would collapse. Fall into itself and leave her on the floor to be picked up and tossed onto the street. So an ambulance would come by and get her. So no one would come in and see the booze being passed around fast as the earth revolves. But if she wasn't dancing like this was the last time she would dance-then there would be no point to this evening at all. That almost flapper might as well hook herself up to needles and drips and be chained inside a five thousand dollar hospital bed. Just to prolong what would happen in a couple week's time.

Some part of this was really fucking sad. But another part was beautiful-just because this poor broad was living in the moment after being dead for so damn long. This wasn't something she normally did. It wasn't something she probably even thought about all that much. So to take the initiative and have one good night after a string of stinking horrible ones-maybe it was commendable.

Ladd wasn't really sure of what to make of it.

Then there was a slow song, with a black man singing in an angel's voice.

She didn't even stop to ask permission, before those slight little hands were claiming parts of those broad shoulders. Before her hips turned to magnets that reeled his hands right in. And in the sappiest way possible-they were looking into one another's eyes; Priscilla's dark coffee stains wet with emotion saccharine and frothy. Her core went pouring out peacefully onto her cheeks, drop by drop. Sapphires shaped into tear drops just rolling on down those rose colored piles. There were only a few, but Ladd captured every last one with a thumbnail.

"I'm sorry." Their hands met up, hers resting on top of his. Gently. "I know I'm bein' stupid right now."

"You're not bein' stupid at all, Doll Face. You gotta stop being so hard on yourself."

Their feet tapped a few times against the floor, while they spun in small circles to the love song in the background. Soul was pouring out of the singer's throat and it was tugging the soul out of Priscilla's eyes.

"I guess it's just a touchy sort a night." Then her tired lungs sucked in a breath. "But I'm happy. Don't let these puffed-up red eyes confuse ya."

"You know Priscilla- you really do look pretty, even with your make-up smearin' a little." His fingers were coded in watery mascara. "So you don't gotta apologize, for feelin' the way you do."

A hard swallow rode down her neck and the two stopped moving. Just so those thin arms could move from Ladd's shoulders to his waist. And she pulled him in tight, like tugging on the ropes to a draw-string bag, with her cheek resting on the collar of his shirt. There was a real attempt there too-not to get black marks all over his pristine suit.

"I love you, Ladd."

Laughter floated right out of his lungs. "That's real sweet a you, Doll Face."

Then he kissed her face wherever his lips could reach.

"That's real sweet."


	9. Chapter 9

They fell under a tree together, all peaceful and sweet like angels, with grass getting into their clothes. They were lying on their backs, eyes dipping into the sky. There was nothing that could bust their wings; the harp strings couldn't be broken, solid like gold and sparkling.

And they lied there, with their elbows intertwined and their mouths all doctored into grins-the sides of their lips pushing into the centers of their cheeks.

Now they had dreams together. A pretty home that neither of them had. Kids with chipped smiles and missing baby teeth. Sitting on the porch, old and grey and happy with the world furled out before them, like a thousand mile long rug unrolling forever. They owned this universe. Almost like a snow globe they could shake up at any given time.

And they would have it-because they were swollen with love. Cupid knocked them silly. So they dreamed their dreams with eyes wide open and chests swelling up into ribs.

Priscilla and her Dorian Grey.

Then she leaned over, and she kissed his cheek, marking it with a lip stain. So he turned and smiled to her, and kissed her cheek back. And they were so damn pretty together.

The picture had never been any clearer.


	10. Chapter 10

Ladd and Priscilla went back to her apartment after they were finished dancing, and landed right onto her bed. They sat like little teenagers who were about to have sex for the first time. Lips pressed together and eyes full of stars. Priscilla had a worn out look in her face, because they had danced for a long time until her heart hurt and they had to go. Her chest probably ached long before she actually suggested they leave. Ladd could see the long lines of sweat forming along her chin and neck, the way wet paint smears down a canvas.

Her hand set itself on top of his.

"I just wanna thank you, Ladd. Fo' agreein' to this."

And she leaned over, to set those fragile lips against his cheek. Where they had been leaving red marks the entire evening. Then there was another one. One on top of a pile of little smooches and kisses and pecks, she had been storing there.

"I put the money in that drawer over there-" A finger accused the dresser, sitting across the room. "It's sittin' right on top a my socks. Also-" Another kiss was left right under his cheek bone. "You can take some iced tea from the fridge-or anything else- if you like."

Ladd didn't say anything in response and Priscilla had nothing more to tell. She just sat polite-like a baby doll, holding her murderer's hand. A smile got painted on her mouth too, all red and blistering and soaked in lipstick.

Ladd touched his lips to hers and brought those powerful hands to her shoulder blades. They both fell back, into the soft mountain of blankets stacked upon the mattress. Sometimes it was cold. When the icy chill blew through the cracks in the window and made the shutters creak like loose floorboards. Priscilla's skin even felt cool. Maybe it was always like that-even when she was sweating bullets on the dance floor.

But it didn't keep Ladd from kissing her even deeper and resting his head upon her chest. Her heart beat wasn't steady. It was between nervous and entirely silent, beats coming by in sets of three and then stopping dead. And then they'd come back in a few steady pairs and stop.

"I don't really wanna kill you, Toots. In fact-I don't wanna kill you at all."

The silence crept into the room to accompany the wind chill. Nothing moved. Everything was just painfully still until a few of those slender fingers brushed through strands of blond.

"Ladd, you told me you'd do it." Priscilla's noise came soft. Just like a mother trying to coax a child. "Listen, you gotta do it tonight. I ain't been this happy in a long while, and if you let me go on livin', I won't be happy when I die a heart failure." One of her palms sat on his cheek, fingers touching slightly to his ear. "But if you do it tonight-I can die happy. Nah-not even just happy. _Euphoric_. Because my heart don't hurt no more, when you're around. And if you leave me here-I'll just go on back, to having my chest ache and my hands hurt. And it ain't even just that-"

A knot sunk into her throat, while her eyes started to smell of salt water.

"See, I love you so much, I'll start to question the hell out of tonight. I'll convince myself that you hate me somehow-that you was just pretendin' so I wouldn't act like some kind a bitch and ruin your evenin'. Even if that ain't even true-I'll do it."

"But don't you understand?" Ladd kissed a few of the tears that came boiling onto her rouge. "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't even think twice of killing you right now. I'd just wrap my hands around that pretty neck a yours and strangle the air right out ya lungs." Ladd's hand sat right above her collarbone. "Sure, you might not be my favorite sort a person to kill, but I ain't got nothin' against killin' people I don't like, even if it ain't that fun."

His mouth took in another few tear drops. He'd drink up her sorrow through a straw, if he could.

"So believe me when I say I really do like you. You're a nice sort a broad, Doll Face."

Now Priscilla was really crying, scrunching up those sopping wet lashes and twisting expression into a smashed up napkin.

"That means so much to me, Ladd. I can't even tell ya-" A gasp. "But if you could just bring yourself to like me enough to end all this pain-Maybe if you could even love me for a couple a minutes, I could go without having to worry about another goddamn thing."

Those weak lungs drank air greedily.

"I'm so happy right now-and I just wanna end on a high note. To have someone so lovely do this for me-I can't think of a better way to go."

Ladd let out a sigh, wrapping arms around her torso and bringing her close.

"Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"Yeah. I'm sure…" She reached out and kissed his cheek again.

"Because you know, there ain't no going back."

"Yeah. I know."

"Alright then."

So then, Ladd placed those strong hands around her tiny neck and began to squeeze. Her breathing stopped, but instead of looking like just about everyone else he had killed this way, she looked so tranquil. The tears were boiling up again, melting into her eyes and twisting up her bright red mouth. Whether it was from pain or happiness or a mix of both, Ladd would probably never know.

And as the life started to drain from her even faster-her face turning bluish white and her poor little lungs gasping for air, they looked at one another. Priscilla mouthed out the words, 'Thank you', and then the soul came flooding out of her-like a vase full of water gone crashing to the ground.

She wasn't breathing anymore.

Ladd looked down at the corpse he had just made, with a frown and eyebrows pushing into one another. That huge, powerful chest produced a sigh.

She really did die looking like an angel. The black bruises around her neck were nothing but a decoration. A lace chocker pounded into her flesh. And Ladd kissed her cheek.

"I'm sorry 'bout all the things life put ya through, that you got so desperate and had to come runnin' to me."

Then he stood up and took the money out of her top drawer. It was all there, like she said it was. And he left shortly afterwards, taking a quick cup of iced tea with him.


End file.
